The Cat Who Talked Turkey

THIRTEEN

Following the welcome departure of Lish and Lush, Qwilleran observed the cats’ bedtime ritual and then settled down with a mug of coffee to consider . . .

That he could have invented a better story himself, based on documented history;

That Lish kept moistening her lips all the time she was relating “discoveries”;

That she had been careful not to give her address;

That she and Lush had exchanged startled glances when a police investigator was mentioned;

Then, perhaps more important, how Koko reacted with bared fangs and subtle snarl whenever there was any reference to Alicia Carroll.

As for the thousand-dollar scam, it could be written off as a legitimate expense in the book Qwilleran hoped to write: The Private Life of the Cat Who . . .

The Fourth of July was like any other date on the calendar to the pampered Siamese who reported for breakfast. To Qwilleran it meant the opening night of the “Great Storm” show.

First he phoned Gary Pratt and authorized the cashing of the check.

“Wow! Is that what she charged you?” the hotelier asked in surprise. “Was it worth it? Did you learn anything?”

“I learned quite a few things” was the ambiguous answer. “Now I’m concentrating on opening night. How’s Maxine?”

“She’s always up-up-up. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Well, I don’t like to eat a full meal before a performance, but I’d like a hearty breakfast, so . . . what better venue than the Black Bear Café? I want to mosey around Brrr and eavesdrop on the tourists . . . and see the beginning of the boat parade . . . and watch the kids making wishes and blowing out electric candles . . . and then home for a nap before curtain time.”

The modest town of Brrr was again ablaze with excitement. Gone were the Scottish tartans! In their place were posters and T-shirts flaunting the “Brrr 200” symbol in red, white, and blue. Pushcarts were offering the shirts in five sizes, and tourists were stripping off their shirts and substituting the bicentennial badge right there on the sidewalk.

In the park across from the hotel, the entertainment was continuous, and youngsters and adults alike lined up to make a birthday wish and blow out the electric candles.

Along the shore there was a manic anticipation of the boat parade, as two hundred cabin cruisers—in eight harbors—awaited their signal. At noon the first fleets would leave Fishport on the west and Deep Harbor on the east. Spectators with cameras and binoculars crowded every vantage point, including housetops along the shoreline.

At noon, when the town hall bell tolled twelve, silence fell in downtown Brrr until an announcement came over loudspeakers that the first fleet had just left Fishport. A shout was raised! After fifteen minutes it was announced that the Mooseville fleet had joined the parade, and the Brrr contingent should be ready to go in eight minutes.

All eyes strained toward the western horizon. When the first craft loomed into view, spectators screamed and jumped for joy! Within minutes, boats flying American flags sailed past the harbor of Brrr, cabin cruisers with three-foot flags.

It was an emotional moment for the watchers on shore. Some happy tears were shed. There was an awed stillness. The second fleet followed, from Mooseville; and then the Brrr contingent sailed off.

Qwilleran shook his head as he thought of “The Great Storm of 1913.” The parade of boats would be a hard act to follow.

Qwilleran arrived at the Hotel Booze an hour before curtain time.

Gary said, “Anything I can do you for? Anything you want to eat or drink?”

“All I need is a quiet place to get into my role.”

Together they checked the back hall from which the newscaster would make his “entrance.” All it offered were two rest rooms, a broom closet, and a storage room for hotel furniture. It was a jumble of chairs and tables, with a little floor space for pacing. Qwilleran moved in.

At one point Maxine dropped in and asked him to listen to her opening speech.

He listened and suggested a significant pause of two seconds in the middle of the last sentence. “You’ll capture their attention, arouse their curiosity, and enlist their cooperation. Try it.”

She tried! “We are going to ask you to imagine . . . that home radios really existed in 1913 . . . as we bring you a broadcast covering the Great Storm of that year.”

As curtain time approached, Qwilleran opened the door to the stage—just enough to hear the babbling audience, the sudden hush when the house lights dimmed, the murmur that greeted the appearance of the Gibson Girl shirtwaist and wig, the rustling of programs as she began to speak, and then the dead silence when she said, “We are going to ask you to imagine—”

As she sat down at the controls, a burst of music came from the two speakers, followed by a few commercials that produced tittering in the audience. Again, more music, during which Qwilleran made his entrance and shook the fake snow from his clothing. Then the newscaster spoke in his compelling stage voice:

The late evening news is a little late tonight, folks. Blame it on the weather: snow, snow, and more snow. First, a look at the headlines . . .

(Reading) Sunday, November ninth. A violent storm with heavy snow and high winds has been blasting Moose County and the lake, with no relief in sight. Elsewhere in the nation . . .

In Washington, President Woodrow Wilson is predicting war with Mexico.

In New York, visitors at an art show were so infuriated by the paintings on exhibition that they rioted in the street; two policemen were injured.

Meanwhile, here at home, blizzard conditions have paralyzed Moose County. Visibility is zero, as a heavy snowfall is whipped by fifty-mile-an-hour winds. Drifting snow is making roads impassable. In downtown Pickax, not a wagon or pedestrian can be seen. Even sleighs cannot get through; horses can make no headway against the wind.

The storm has taken this area by surprise. Following the recent turbulence on the lake, weather conditions settled down to normal yesterday, and shipping was resumed. A steady traffic in freighters and passenger boats could be seen moving north for the last run of the season. Even though the Weather Bureau predicted more disturbances in the atmosphere, the sun was shining and the temperature was unusually high for November. Today, in the early-morning hours, there was still no weather to discourage duck hunters from going out on the Bay. This being Sunday, the commercial fishermen were taking a day off, and a peaceful calm descended on the shoreline. It was the lull before the storm.

Shortly after daybreak, the wind began to rise, and the sky turned the color of copper—a most unusual sight, according to early risers. By ten

A

.

M

., winds of fifty miles an hour were recorded. Churchgoers returning home on foot or even in buggies found the going difficult. One small boy was torn away from his mother’s hand by a sudden gust, and he rolled down Main Street like a tumbleweed.

Snow started to fall in the afternoon. It has accumulated steadily. Eight inches was first predicted. Now twelve or even eighteen inches is not unlikely. Drifting snow on country roads and city streets is piling up—six feet deep in some locations. And this may be only the beginning, according to weather experts.

Here is a bulletin from Fishport: Two duck hunters from Down Below left shore early this morning—two miles south of town. They have not been seen since that time. Their boat has been found, bottom-up, on the shore.

According to a bulletin from Deep Harbor, a passenger boat from Down Below was unable to reach port here because of damage to her stern rudder. She was last seen steaming backward down the lake.

No bulletins have been received from the Lifesaving Station, but we hope to reach them for a firsthand report on conditions at Purple Point.

(Picks up phone) Operator, this is WPKX calling Brrr Harbor Lifesaving Station. . . . Yes, we know. But please do the best you can. . . . Thank you. . . . Brrr Harbor Station? Is it possible to speak to the captain? WPKX calling. . . . Captain, this is the radio newsroom in Pickax. What is the storm situation up there?

CAPTAIN ON TAPE

: Bad! Very bad! Worst I’ve ever seen. There’s a vessel stranded on the reef here. She’s being battered by the waves. We can’t reach her. Made two tries. Wrecked both of our rescue boats. Lucky to get our crew back alive. We tried our small boat, too. Put it on a sledge and had the horses pull it down the beach, closer to the wreck. No good. Boat got as far as Seagull Island and filled with water. Had to turn back. We’ve still got the surfboat, but it’s buried in frozen sand.

NEWSCASTER

: Captain, what is the name of the vessel on the reef?

CAPTAIN ON TAPE

: Can’t tell. Must be a freighter. They’re blowing a distress signal, but it’s hard to hear. Wind is shrieking. Waves are roaring and booming like cannon. Can’t see anything. Can’t see two feet in front of your face. Snow comes at you like a white blanket.

NEWSCASTER

: Sir, is there any chance of saving the crew of the freighter? How many are aboard, would you estimate?

CAPTAIN ON TAPE

: Probably twenty-five or more. If she’s battered to pieces by morning, the whole crew could be lost. In this icy water, a man wouldn’t last twenty minutes. There are signs of life out there

now,

we think, but the cabin’s washed away and she must be flooded belowdecks. Whole vessel will be a block of ice by morning.

NEWSCASTER

: Yesterday was a beautiful day, Captain. Where did this storm come from?

CAPTAIN ON TAPE

: Can’t say. Seems to be coming from two directions. Never saw anything like it. Wind is sixty-two knots—more than seventy miles an hour. That’s gale force! Temperature below freezing. Whole shore covered with ice. Our wharfs and boathouse are beginning to break up. My men are taking it hard. They want to go after those poor devils out there, but there’s nothing they can do. We’re helpless.

NEWSCASTER

: Thank you, Captain. We’ll hope and pray for the best.

Here are more bulletins from towns around the shoreline.

From Mooseville: Six duck hunters rented a launch early this morning and headed for Lone Tree Island. The owner of the launch is positive it could not withstand this heavy sea. The persistent north wind has raised the water level in the bay, and if the hunters are marooned on Lone Tree, there is little hope. The island could be submerged by this time.

From Port George: Wharfs and sheds belonging to the commercial fisheries are being shattered by mountainous waves. Even buildings set back from the shore are losing doors, windows, and chimneys. One section of the beach is littered with a jumble of freshly cut timber. Rafts of logs, being floated to the sawmill, have broken loose and are being tossed on the shore like matchsticks.

Here’s one from Purple Point: The community pier has been demolished, along with cargo awaiting shipment: a thousand barrels of apples and twenty-five tons of baled hay.

Serious news from Trawnto Beach: The lightship that warns vessels away from the shoals has been torn from its moorings, increasing the danger to freighters that have lost their course in the blinding snowstorm. Large steel freighters are being tossed by winds up to eighty miles an hour. Boats trying to turn and head back are rolling wildly in the trough of thirty-five-foot waves. The Lifesaving Station has been completely destroyed.

(Consults watch) Our Deep Harbor correspondent is standing by. (Picks up phone) Operator, this is WPKX. Can you connect us with the mobile unit in Deep Harbor?

TAPE OF HIGH WIND AND WAVES

,

THEN VOICE

-

OVER

: Here in Deep Harbor the noise is deafening: the howling of the wind, the crashing of huge waves, the cracking and groaning of wooden structures breaking up. A wave hits the concrete breakwater, and it sounds like an explosion. The

old

breakwater, built of wood, is reduced to splinters. The noise drowns out the distress signals from the big boats. They’re frantic for help, but the lifesaving boats have been smashed on the rocks.

The lake is reaching farther inland than anyone can remember. The fisheries have lost buildings, boats, piers, and nets. Houses near the shore are being lifted from their foundations. There’ll be no sleep for anyone on the shore tonight. Over. Back to Pickax.

NEWSCASTER

: Hang on, Deep Harbor. While residents of shore communities are ready to evacuate their homes at a moment’s notice, families living inland are advised to stay indoors. One farmer attempting to open his barn door was buried alive in an avalanche when the wind whipped in and filled the barn with snow in a matter of seconds.

The entire county is now isolated. Telegraph lines are down. Railway trains are at a standstill. Passenger trains from Down Below have been halted by drifts, and travelers are stranded. The destruction of boats and docks means that Moose County’s major lifeline has been cut. Food, coal, and kerosene will not reach this area for many days.

In Pickax, all establishments are closed and will remain closed until further notice. Even emergency services have found it impossible to respond to calls. Firefighters, doctors, and police report they are blinded and completely disoriented by the whirlwind of snow.

When the storm is over, volunteers will be needed immediately to assist road crews in digging out the city.

Meanwhile, city officials issue this warning: Stay indoors, and conserve food and fuel. Repeat: Stay indoors, and conserve food and fuel. And please stay tuned to WPKX for further directives.

This is WPKX signing off for Sunday, November ninth.

Qwilleran made his exit as the stage lights dimmed and storm music of Francesca da Rimini filled the hall. Moments later he returned, wearing other garb and carrying another script. His manner was somber as he signaled to Maxine. The music faded away, and the stage lights came up:

Wednesday, November twelfth. The worst storm in the history of the lake is now just a tragic memory, as Moose County tries to assess the damage and pick up the pieces. Farmers report livestock frozen in the fields. Commercial fisheries have lost their means of livelihood. Since fishing is a major industry on the North Shore, the economic impact on Moose County could be serious. The entire shoreline is littered with wreckage: wharfs, commercial buildings, fishing boats, houses, pleasure craft, summer cottages, and government rescue stations. Worst of all is the loss of life. Almost two hundred sailors were drowned, and bodies are still washing up on the Canadian shore. In rural areas, many persons are reported missing. It is now presumed that they lost their way in the blizzard and have frozen to death.

A Lifesaving Station was able to rescue the crew of the five-hundred-foot steamer

Hanna,

wrecked on the reef. They were rescued after thirty-six hours of desperate attempts. Twenty-five officers and men—and a woman cook who was praised for her bravery—were brought safely to shore by the surfboat. The wreckage will remain on the reef until spring, when salvage operations will begin.

Many crews were less fortunate. Boats capsized or broke in two or “crumpled like eggshells,” according to one observer. What appeared to be a large whale, drifting in the lake, was the hull of a large freighter, upside down and kept afloat by air bubbles. It later sank to the bottom.

Among the fortunate survivors of the storm were six duck hunters who went out before the storm and were marooned all night on Lone Tree Island. They were rescued on Monday, suffering from exposure and on the verge of pneumonia. One of them is standing by to give our listeners a firsthand account of a terrifying adventure.

(Picks up phone) Operator, ready for the Mooseville call. Hello. Yes, this is the WPKX newsroom. Sir, will you tell us how you happened to be out on that island during the storm?

HUNTER ON TAPE

: Well, me and five other fellas rented a boat Sunday mornin’ and went out to the island for some birds. We was just gettin’ set up when the wind come up. Nobody thought much about it. But then I heard that spooky whistlin’ sound that means trouble. We was two miles from the mainland, and I wanted to get the heck out of there. But the other fellas, they wanted to get a few shots before quittin’. The wind got real bad then. Even the ducks, they was flyin’ backwards, like.

We could see our boat tossin’ around, and the first thing we know, she broke loose and headed for open water. By that time it was gettin’ awful cold. There we was—alone on an island with nothin’ but a little shack and some miserable trees. We was dressed warm, but we went to the shack and made a fire in the little stove there. Next thing, it started to snow. I never seen such a blizzard. All around us—nothin’ but white. And then the lake, she started to rise. Kept creepin’ closer to the shack. We huddled around the stove until the water busted right in and put the fire out. Whole island was flooded. By the time it got dark, we was standin’ in freezin’ water up to our waist. Somebody said we should tie ourselves together with a piece o’ rope. Don’t know why, but we did. Then the shanty, it started to move. We’re gonna be swept into the bay, I thought. But that durned shanty got stuck between a coupla trees, and there we hung, like trapped animals.

NEWSCASTER

: Sir, how long did the blow continue?

HUNTER ON TAPE

: Musta been sixteen, eighteen hours. Calmed down about two in the mornin’, and we was still there, shiverin’ and tied together, when they come lookin’ for us, in a boat from Mooseville.

NEWSCASTER

: What did you do to keep your spirits up during this . . . this nightmare? I mean, did you talk? Sing? Tell jokes?

HUNTER ON TAPE

: (Pause) Well, we talked—we talked about our families. And I guess we prayed a lot.

NEWSCASTER

: Thank you, sir. We’re glad you all got back alive. And take care of that cough!

The news from Fishport was not so good. The bodies of two duck hunters were washed up on the beach, not far from the spot where their wrecked boat was found.

Near Deep Harbor, the storm tossed up a gruesome reminder of an unsolved mystery. Seven years ago, a tugboat with a crew of five disappeared just outside the harbor. According to eyewitnesses, one minute it was there, and the next minute it was gone. No trace of boat or crew was ever found. During Sunday’s storm, the waves churned up the smokestack and cabin of this long-lost boat. With it was one body, badly decomposed after seven summers and seven winters at the bottom of the lake. Deep Harbor also reports that the concrete breakwater failed to withstand the pounding of the waves. Three hundred feet of the breakwater washed away, the waves rolling huge chunks of concrete like marbles.

The storm has raised many puzzling questions. How can one explain the abnormal behavior of wind and water? According to the United States Weather Bureau, it was a clash of

three

low-pressure fronts—one coming down from Alaska, one from the Rocky Mountains, and a third from the Gulf of Mexico. They met over the lake.

A spokesman for the Weather Bureau has stated that gale warnings were flown at all stations. The signal flags are well known to sailors—the red square with a black center, flown over a white pennant.

But the skippers of the big freighters ignored the warnings. Why?

A retired lake captain, who wishes to remain anonymous, gave WPKX his explanation.

SCOTTISH CAPTAIN ON TAPE

: Greed, that’s what it’s all about. Greed! The owners of the boats put pressure on the skippers to squeeze in one or two more voyages at the end of the season. It means more profit for the company and maybe a promotion for the skipper and a bonus for the crew, so they don’t heed the storm warnings. Many a lake captain has taken the gamble. But this storm was a fierce one. It was a gamble that no man could win.

NEWSCASTER

: The result of last Sunday’s gamble: eight freighters sunk . . . 188 lives lost . . . nine other large boats wrecked or grounded . . . millions of dollars lost in vessels and cargo. But no one can estimate the cost of the terror and heartache caused by the Great Storm of 1913. And no one who has lived through this storm will ever forget it.